


A Theory in Practice

by wonderlandiscrumbling



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Comfort, Love, M/M, Mentions of Sex, unsaid confessions of love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:46:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22797277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wonderlandiscrumbling/pseuds/wonderlandiscrumbling
Summary: Jaskier has never believed that Witchers are incapable of emotions, meeting Geralt gave him a great opportunity to try and prove his own personal theory correct that they were capable of emotions like anybody else.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 7
Kudos: 87





	A Theory in Practice

Jaskier had a nearly impossible time grasping the idea that Witchers couldn’t experience real human emotion. He’d grown up hearing they felt nothing, maybe some rage, but nothing outside of that. He’d not even believed it as a child or as a teenager, certainly not in his 20s. Then when he’d spotted Geralt holed up brooding in that pub he so desperately wanted to be proven correct in his theory that in some way they could feel just like a human could. He’d considered Geralt not snapping his neck or punching him in the face as he blathered on like a fool as a good first sign that they could feel, at least they weren’t full of never-ending rage. He’d found out soon that outwardly Geralt behaved in a grumpy manner, stoic and often pushing away as if by a taught habit. Jaskier had never been good at backing down or leaving people alone, he had a theory he was quite desperate to prove right.

It wasn’t until after yet another near-death experience that left him blood soaked, bruised, and gasping for breath that he acted upon a base emotion he’d been keeping pressed down for nearly a year. When Geralt knelt before him, a hand against his cheek, his thumb brushing against the cut on his cheek he’d leaned in and kissed him hard. His heart had been hammering so hard against his chest that he forgot to breathe as his lips glided against the older man’s, the lack of kissing back sent a shock of panic through him. Jaskier pulled back from him drawing in a deep breath as he prepared a rambling apology about hitting his head, about not thinking clearly, and just being caught up in an incredibly stupid moment. Then Geralt had placed a strong hand against the back of his neck and drew him back in, this time the kiss was less feverish, it lacked hormonal desperation. He could feel something in it, he could feel something so caring and gentle in the way strong calloused fingers gingerly stroked up through the hair at the back of his head. His heart skipped a beat and he was sure he could feel a certain emotion in the kiss he dare not name.

Kissing quickly became normal. What he once thought was one off became nearly regular. In shared rooms he’d be pulled into Geralt’s arms and kissed by him; if he’d annoyed him that day then the kiss would be rough and greedy, a large possessive hand against the small of his back pulling him flush against a muscular body, and soon he’d find himself laid back against the bed of whatever inn they were residing at for the night. He’d gasp and moan, head tossed back against pillows as he’d feel the Witcher’s lips travelling down the front of his throat, a hot tongue lavishing against his skin and hands pushing greedily up under clothes to touch flesh. It wasn’t just kissing; it wasn’t just fondling and sex in rooms and in the woods far from prying eyes. There was something in the way Geralt touched him, in the way he made sure he wasn’t hurt, the way those fingers so gingerly traced love bites left on his skin, the way he’d kiss the bruises left on his wrists after a round or two of rough sex. There was an overwhelming sensation of love afterwards when Geralt would hold him close against himself afterwards, he could feel it, and he knew he may never hear those words come from his mouth, but it was enough to feel it through his actions.

Some days he considered telling him, screaming or singing how much he loved him and always would until his final day on this planet, but he feared what would happen then. He feared that Geralt would retreat from him, that he would stop all touching and kissing, distance himself, or disappear altogether. He knew they were walking a fine line, how he wished he could obliterate that line, and express the way he felt for him through words and not just touches. He supposed he could settle for now for the physical, for the everything in between.

As he lay in yet another bed with Geralt by his side, fast asleep he knew he could keep this up forever. He knew he’d proven his theory right, Witchers could feel, this one specifically could feel and even if he was the only one who would ever know that then that was fine. He wasn’t quite sure he wanted anybody else knowing just how deeply Geralt was capable of feeling.


End file.
